


The One Where Jon Gives the Best Hugs

by dapatty



Series: that werewolf!verse [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Fluff, Hugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon knows what's up and is the best hugger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Jon Gives the Best Hugs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onceuponamoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/gifts).



Jon wasn’t quite sure what was going on with Brendon. Or with Spencer, for that matter. Like, he had suspicions, but nothing was confirmed. It was cool, though. Everything would work out, like everything always worked out. Even if he was pretty sure that Spencer was totally a fairy godparent and Brendon has gotten himself turned into a werewolf. Ah, the things you learn about in the Chicago music scene.

Like, you learn about werewolves that when one of their pack-- no, one of their _mates_ (Jon was pretty sure Spencer and Brendon were totally together), heads out of town to deal with some sort of ‘parental meeting of importance,’ then the werewolf will probably be miserable at home. A miserable little ball of sad on the sofa that needed some care and feeding. And maybe, while he was over, he’d go ahead and let Brendon know that he knew what’s up.

But, he could at least be supportive with steaks at Brendon’s to start with and Spencer did ask if Jon could pop in this weekend. So he fired off a text to Brendon, threw on some flip flops and headed over after a stop to the store.

“Hey,” he called as he walked into Brendon’s house, bending down to scratch under Bogart’s chin. “So I brought food, which I will cook.” Jon went on to the kitchen, washed his hands, and put the steaks into a marinade on the counter and put a couple--no, four--potatoes in to bake. He figured that Brendon probably hadn’t really eaten today. Werewolves, especially pack-dependent mopey ones, would usually choose moping over food. “And I brought ice cream. That weird peanut butter one you like. With the pistachios.”

Still no response.

When he moseyed into the living room, he found Brendon curled up in a little ball on the couch, just as he expected.

“Bden,” Jon sighed and walked over, smoothing back Brendon’s hair. “You’ve been moping here all day.”

“What gave it away?” Brendon asked, burrowing more firmly under the covers as Bogart looked disapprovingly at him near the sofa, then looked at Jon. Bogart then promptly jumped up in the armchair as if leaving Jon to fix things, like he’d washed his paws of it. “I just don’t feel good. I texted you back to let you know not to bother.”

“You are never a bother, dude,” Jon said, very seriously, smiling, so that Brendon could tell that he meant it when Brendon finally looked at him. He’d always cared, even when the break-up was happening. But werewolves could be irrational, and Brendon was so new, especially with how he scented the air, forgetting to play human for a minute.

“You mean that,” Brendon said, sounding a little surprised, even as Jon sat down and wormed his way under the blanket and wrapped his arms around Brendon.

“Of course I mean that,” Jon said, tucking his chin over Brendon’s shoulder like he use too, like when they were piled the couch in the bus lounge. “You’re just feeling a little co-dependent and you probably haven’t eaten anything today. You can’t forget to take care of yourself just because Spence is out of town.”

“I’m not co-dependent,” Brendon said, somewhat grudgingly, snuggling into Jon’s arms. “And I think I had cereal this morning.” Brendon’s stomached rumbled, betraying him.

“Well, clearly,” Jon smirked, laughing.

“Shut up,” Brendon giggled, then sniffed the air. “Hey, do you have something marinating? And you said something about ice cream?”

“Bottomless pit,” Jon chided.

“You have no idea,” Brendon sounded a little helpless all of a sudden.

“C’mon,” Jon said, tugging at Brendon as he sat up. “You can loom as I cook. I’ll even let you sit on the counter. I know Spence hates when you do.”

“You say the sweetest things, Jon Walker,” Brendon fluttered his eyelashes at him, but looked a little more like himself as Jon pulled him off of the couch.

“I am completely charming,” Jon said.

“Oh, I only love you for your cooking,” Brendon joked, following Jon to the kitchen. He stopped at the counter as Jon readied the pan, melting butter to heat.

“At least it’s not a moon weekend,” Jon said conversationally, neatly slicing a few onions and mushrooms.

“Yeah, at least,” Brendon admitted. Then his eyebrows shot up, alarmed. “Wait. What?”

“Well, it isn’t,” Jon said, giving a reassuring smile. He tossed the vegetables in to fry and readied the grill for the steak. “It’s not for another week, and Spencer will be back by then. And if you’re worried, you know you can always hang out at Bob’s if you’re afraid of Sarah showing up. But I got a feeling she knows.”

Brendon was gaping at Jon now, mouth open, floundering. Then took a deep breath and held it. Then let it out. Tried to speak, and then took another deep breath and released it. “I. You. I,” Brendon snapped his mouth shut.

Jon nodded. Bob was really helping Brendon with all the breathing stuff. “Rare, right?” Jon checked and Brendon nodded, still trying to find words.

“Jon, are you psychic?” Brendon finally settled on something to say, looking on the hopeful side of terrified.

“I’m from Chicago,” Jon shrugged. “Not psychic. Sorry to disappoint.”

“But you are ‘from Chicago’?” Brendon asked, doing air quotes as his eyebrows climbed further up his forehead.

“I’m not sure what you think that means, but it’s a Midwest thing,” Jon explained, putting the first steak on. “See, a lot of weird goes on. It probably has something to do with having such a long and cold winter. Even the Gods get bored. And if Gods are bored, then other things get bored, and start stirring up things they shouldn’t and if you’re not careful, you can end up in Faery on a Saturday night that lasts three days. So you pick up a few things. And nothing ever _happens_ in California,” Jon complained, waving around his fork and sounding a little defensive, even to his own ears, “Except a couple werewolf turnings and vampire sightings, which I’m really sorry about. Only _you_ would get turned at a party and then not tell anyone.”

“I’m sorry too,” Brendon admitted, but he was half-smiling while still looking surprised. “Chicago just sounds too exciting for me.”

“Only a little,” Jon said, putting on the other steak and giving the veggies a stir.

“You’ve known since that afternoon I sniffed your hair for ten minutes, huh?” Brendon asked sheepishly.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Jon admitted.

“Huh,” Brendon frowned.

“And you’re a really bad and twitchy liar, friend,” Jon winked, his tone light again as he flipped the steaks.

Brendon scrunched up his nose, “I’m not that bad.”

“Totally twitchy,” Jon observed casually, ducking down and opening the oven to check the potatoes.

“Well,” Brendon hedged. “That’s why you’ve been giving me those long hugs, hasn’t it?”

“You look like you needed them,” Jon said. “Do you not want long hugs anymore?”

“No, I. Hugs are good. Don’t renege on the hugs,” Brendon said, completely serious. Like Jon might be being a bit ridiculous and maybe meant to stop with the hugging.

“You’re fishing for a hug right now,” Jon smirked.

“You just told me you know about all this shit because you’re ‘ _from the Midwest_ ’ and I’d been hiding it from you because I’ve been turned into a monster but you’ve just known. And apparently been cool with it,” Brendon rambled. “And yeah. I’m totally fishing for a non-judgmental hug. You give the best hugs. Soothing.”

“Brendon,” Jon cut him off.

“Yeah?” Brendon asked, chewing on his lip.

“Let me get the steaks up and I’ll hug you as long as you want,” Jon offered.

“That be great,” Brendon slumped, grinning sheepishly.

Jon shook his head, smiling. Werewolves. Seriously. He put the steaks on a plate, turned off all the burners and the oven, and folded Brendon into his arms.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] The One Where Jon Gives the Best Hugs, by dapatty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400863) by [TheOneCalledEli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneCalledEli/pseuds/TheOneCalledEli)




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